Outside, Immerine
shoves past the soldiers and out into the afternoon. She pauses in the
courtyard unsure of where to go or why she is running. She hears the door open
and close twice more and half turns to see both Jez and Nik following her. Not
wanting to encounter them in the middle of the open courtyard she runs to the
rear of the stables and waits for the first one to arrive.

She looks down at
the hand clenched around the ring and her eyes fill with tears of rage and
penultimate sorrow as she waits. Not used to the irrational raging emotions
running through her she turns and pounds a fist against the unyielding stable
wall, hoping the pain will help… but it doesn’t.

As she pounds on the
wall, the young witch doesn’t notice a black owl swooping on silent wings into
the stable, perching itself over Qwenta’s stall. She also doesn’t notice a
scampering ferret which stops at her feet for a moment then darts of into a
nearby stack of hay.

Exiting the Running
Stag the young mage sends Ened’ome aloft to look for Immerine. Only Jez and
Nik are present in the courtyard – heading for the stables. The young
barbarian is subdued as he searches, a combination of embarrassment and
concern smothering his natural enthusiasm. “Let me help… please?” he mutters
under his breath. Tarim isn’t sure whether it is his need to have the girl
understand that he wants to help, or that he really wants to help her that is
more compelling.

There was such an
air of mystery about her… it was very interesting. The real issue, he came to
realize, lay in the fact that he caused her some distress and that was causing
a great deal of distress of his own. “I hate it when people misunderstand…” he
mumbles to himself softly.

Then the little
black owl sends him a mental image of first a small prey not-prey running.
Then of prey not-prey stopping at claws of a two feet, then of prey not-prey
eating.

Jezbodiah at almost
the same time receives a giddy feeling across the link with his familiar,
interrupted only by an image of the paws of a two feet.

The tall bard pays
no attention at all to the fact that Jez and Tarim are obviously on the same
errand as he is, all his drunken concentration is bent on catching the witch.
Nik charges after Immerine, coming to a staggering, utterly graceless halt a
few feet from her. Nik leans against the wall, gasping for breath and
swallowing hard to keep the whiskey in his stomach where it belongs instead of
on the ground where his short run threatens to put it. As his stomach settles,
he watches Immerine punch the wall. When he can speak without panting or
puking, Nik says gently “It doesn’t help, milady. Trust me.” His haggard face
is filled with concern, and his gaze is clear and steady. Obviously the
adrenaline from the brief chase is keeping the alcohol at bay, at least for
the moment.

“Damn,” utters Jez.
“What’s mischief has she gotten into now?” Jez places his slender fingers
along the side of his head, and stops to clear the sensation from his head. He
looks at Nik and the newest member of the troop move past him. He looks down
at his feet, first, then for anything that resembles the mental image.

Quietly the
barbarian mage makes his way towards Ened’ome, finally coming to a stop at the
entryway to the stables. He hears the voices within and ventures no further
instead waiting at the entrance for a more opportune moment. He peeks within
and even from this distance he can see and feel the pain pouring from Immerine
in waves.

Conflict rages
within the young man and he questions himself. Was he to leave her alone with
her friend despite his state? To barge in and add further embarrassment to the
poor lady’s plight? Or to wait and see if he was needed and apologize when the
opportunity presented itself.

As Jez ventures into
the hay Tarim smiles gently at the pretense, standing at the entrance leaning
back against the doorway and on his staff, his face thoughtfully downcast.

Nik sighs, offering
Immerine the faint ghost of a smile. “You said the other day that you believed
in me. That you’d help me. Let me return that favor, if there’s anything a
drunkard like myself can do to help you. Just name it.” His dull hazel eyes
are filled with a strange desperation, and while the self-mocking, bitter
humor is in his deep voice, it is only a shadow behind the worry. His smile
grows into the lopsided, manic grin – even though it doesn’t change the
burning hunger to help in his eyes. “You can hit me, if you need something to
hit.” He offers her wryly. “I’m pretty sure I’m softer than that wall, and
it’s usually more satisfying to hurt something other than yourself, or so I’ve
been told.”

“Of course,” he says
as he smacks his forehead. The lecture the old crone gave him about his
familiar and how they are linked sets into his head at a frighteningly
horrible pace. His heart thumping, Jezbodiah zips right past Nik and Tarim
bent on finding his lost companion. As he approaches and enters the barn, he
says, “Alanna, where are you? C’mon, where are you? I thought told you stay at
the table.”

Storming right past
Nik and Immerine, Jezbodiah wades into the large stack of hay placed in the
stable. Alanna, thinking her master wants to play a game, peeks out from under
the hay – a comical sight with the grape still between her teeth – then dashes
with quick movements up the stack towards an overhanging beam.

Immerine hits the
wall one last time before turning to Jez. Scathing anger flashes in the
piercing green eyes seen over the concealing veil. She says one single word, a
very harsh “No.”

It is several
moments before she says anything else. She dismisses Jez with a glance and
sees the tiny owl perched on the stall. She flinches as she vaguely remembers
shoving Ened’ome’s master back in the common room. “Why do you do this to
yourself, Nik? You are a brilliant man, exceedingly talented. Who has hurt you
so much you gaze at the world with haunted looks? Why would you even offer to
replace an ineffective stable wall? I do not think you understand the depth of
what I feel right now.”

Immerine opens the
clenched fist and the ring glitters in her palm. She is caught up again in the
same sorrow-ridden vision as earlier and finally just slumps into the nearby
hay. She removes the veil and looks up. Nik sees a very beautiful, young woman
with a resigned look graying her pallor. She croaks out, “The man who wore
this ring was a Wearer of the Purple – a high-ranking member of the Cult of
the Dragon. He came to my village when I was a child. My mother had gone on a
mission for the sisterhood, a very important mission – she was to help recover
and hide the Tome of the Dragon. My father was gone fighting the Tuigan horde.
I was home with the village elders and the wolves… my friends.”

“My mother came
home, but she wasn’t my mother. I ran to her; I was happy to see her. She
grabbed me and held me tight but there was no warmth in her flesh. She was a
cold, dead thing brought to life to serve the owner of this ring. I was just a
toddler yet I can see everything that happened as if it were happening over
and over in front of me. In fact, I have been seeing it play itself out over
and over all day.”

“The man had troops
with him and they rounded up the village members. They slaughtered every last
one. I remember him speaking to me in a strange language, one of the languages
Matteo speaks that I do not know. I remember his gaze penetrating my skull as
he asked me something in that barbaric tongue. When I didn’t answer him he
beat me and I knew blackness. I woke up and I could feel the spirits calling
for his death. Their voices were sad, anguished and terrible. I saw a cloud on
the horizon – my father’s troops were coming home to die. I tried to warn
them, I tried but I was tied to a stake. Mt mother approached my father and
cast a spell of whirling blades on him cutting his mount from beneath him. My
mother ripped my father apart with her bare hands.”

“Then suddenly I was
free. I don’t even know how. I ran. I heard the man scream to my mother to
catch me. Something about my blood being needed for something. I don’t know.
All I know is I ran and ran. My friends were there, the wolves, and I could
feel something else… a presence. It was as if the spirit of the forest was by
my side. I ran until my feet bled and I could run no more. I fell into the
fork of a tree’s roots and hid, but she found me. She called me an awful child
in her rasping dead voice. She was about to touch me when the tree ripped her
apart. It reached down with its twisted limbs and pulled her to pieces. Her
blood, what was left splashed all over me and I ran again. I don’t even know
where I was going by then.”

“I fell asleep by a
stream. When I woke up I was warm but hungry. My friends the wolves had
followed and curled around me as I slept. There was a flat stone and a cupped
stone near the stream. The cup was filled with clear liquid and the flat stone
was covered with fruits and nuts. I ate, I drank and I cried. My life was
gone, or so I thought. Then I heard the whispers, I felt the spirits. They
helped me. They kept me safe.”

She looks up at Nik
as if seeing him for the first time, “You Outlanders think we are mysterious
and barbaric in our own right. We are. We have to be, there is no other way.
When your people hurt the land you live on we feel its repercussions in our
part of the world. This place has spirits too, some twisted and dark; others
have adapted and still others remain free. I live in a different world than
you. Even now…” The young woman slumps over her hands as she rocks back and
forth in the hay.

The gaunt man’s wry
grin fades as Immerine asks him about his own past, and the haunted look she
refers to replaces the concern in his haggard face. He swallows hard but says
nothing in reply, his suddenly anguished gaze fixed now on a point somewhere
above Immerine. When she reveals the source of her own pain, the bard looks
down at her, and his shock at her story quickly turns to sympathy. Horror
fills his sunken eyes as his own vivid imagination fleshes out the witch’s
tale. He sinks to the ground, eyes downcast now, his face filled with the
desperate need to do something – ANYTHING – to help ease her pain. Nik doesn’t
even seem to notice Jez, hugging his long arms to his chest and struggling for
words that won’t come.

Finally the bard
draws a deep breath, letting it out in a shaky sigh. “You’re right when you
said I can’t understand what you’re feeling. I can’t. Nothing that has ever
happened to me is even the faintest shadow of what you’ve been through. My
home is still there, even if I can’t ever go back. My mother died a peaceful
death in her bed, and my father is still alive. You’re so much stronger than
me. To have been through so much at such an age…” He sighs again, a shudder
running through his gaunt frame. “You want to know why I’m like this? Because
I’m weak. I’ve always been weak. Not just physically, although that certainly
makes my life so much harder. I was the despair of my mother, nothing but a
disappointment. You, she would have liked very much, milady. But me, well,
let’s just say my inability to keep my hands off things that interest me was
not the only thing that got me hit. I always was a worthless, pathetic child.
And I grew up into a worthless, pathetic man.” He shudders again, his eyes
filled again with horror as he thinks how the constant scorn of his mother is
nothing compared to what happened to Immerine. “But it wasn’t my mother’s
fault. I think she loved me, sometimes. She was proud of my musical talent,
you know. It’s the only thing I was ever good at. Well, that and taking
things. It’s giving them back that always gets me into trouble.”

Nik’s eyes are vague
now, seeing not the present but his own troubled past. “I don’t hate my
mother. It’s not her fault. She never wanted children, but my father did. She
told me once that she should have drowned me at birth, and maybe she was
right. Mostly she left me to my father, although with the inn to run he didn’t
have much time for a troublesome boy with no sense of restraint.” The bard
gives a single cough of laughter, left hand rubbing absently at the scar under
his right sleeve. “I could have turned out alright, I think, if I could have
only kept my curiosity under control. And if not for Julia…” his voice trails
off, and the pain and longing in his expression makes it clear that it is not
his precious guitar that he is referring to.

The tall bard shakes
his head sharply, the bitterness rising in his face like pus from a wound.
“Anyway, in one stupid night I threw away everything I had ever dreamed of. I
wasn’t a child, like you, when my world shattered. I was 22 before I finally
landed myself in prison. In those three months I was beaten nearly to death
twice, and well, a lady needn’t know what else happened to me there. Alcohol
is my only refuge, the last safe place for me when my nightmares creep out
into the light. If I drink enough I can forget, even if it’s only for a little
while.” Nik gives another short, caustic bark of laughter before continuing
harshly “Each time I’m sent to prison I’m sure I will die there, and after the
first night or two I usually wish I would. The flogging I got last year was a
pleasant change from the beatings and buggery, even if it was also the closest
I’ve come to dying for my crimes. And some day I WILL die for my lack of
control. I can only hope it’s quick and relatively painless.”

His eyes suddenly
clear, and he gives Immerine a look of pure shame as he realizes how
self-absorbed he is behaving once again. He looks away, face full of the acrid
self-loathing and narrow shoulders hunched as if he wants nothing more than
for Immerine to lash out at him for daring to bring up his abuse-filled past
when she is faced with the horror of her own.

The moment passes,
and shame again fills his haggard face. “I… I… I’m sorry.” he finally says,
his voice rough with emotion. “I want… I want to help you. But I… I don’t know
how. I can’t even help myself.” He drags his haunted eyes from the ground and
looks at Immerine, reaches one trembling hand out to her before he remembers
how she hates to be touched and snatches his hand back. “Tell me what to do.”
he says hoarsely, desperately. The pain in his eyes is almost physical as he
pleads “I’ll do anything. Tell me how to help.” The bitterness is gone, the
sardonic, self-abusive anger lost in his need to give Immerine the comfort he
denies himself.

Immerine stares at
the haggard man slumped down next to her. “Oh Nik…” a slender hand tentatively
reaches forward to touch the thin man’s cheek. Then a bit more sure in the
brief touch Immerine, cups his chin. “You are anything but worthless. No one
should say that of a child, no one! You want to do something for me? Then live
your life. It is far easier to crawl into a bottle each night and flinch at
others and hide inside – than it is to face each day. You are a viable man.
You have a beautiful talent. You are intelligent and creative and when you are
not cringing you are handsome. We all have bad traits, they can be changed but
it is hard. I promise to help you as I can, but you also have to be willing to
help yourself.”

Immerine looks down
at her feet, removing her hand from Nik’s chin. “I have had visions of what is
happening here. I have dreams. I know I need to be here but I don’t want to be
here. You say you are worthless, I say you are not. You have at least helped
the others, I keep running away. There is something dark happening here.
Something screaming at me in my soul. It is like the dark fiend I met on my
journey from Rashemen has inhabited this city. And then before I came into the
city a dead thing rose from the river to attack, but did not… it was strange.
There was a spark of something in its eyes before it turned and ran to the
wood across the river.”

She laughs bitterly,
“Look at us. Sitting in the hay crying our eyes out and having two grown men
peek on as if we don’t know they are there. I saw you walk in Jez. And you
Tarim, Ened’ome gave you away – stop skulking in doorways.”

Tarim stands
straight from his leaning spot and manages a soft, sad little smile as he
approaches. “I came to apologize and to make sure you were…all right” he
finishes belatedly after not finding the words he was looking for. “I had only
meant to help… and I am so sorry to have upset you so…” the raven-haired young
man continues while approaching, his bright blue eyes focused on her sharply
as he nervously thumbs the carvings on his staff.

“I have difficult
ignoring a lady in distress, I just forgot how different the ways of other
people can be…” he adds contritely, finishing “if you could forgive my
transgression I would be very grateful.” As he draws near the little black owl
swoops down in a circle around him and settles on his shoulder and rubbing her
small beak against the side of his face.

“As I recall I am
the one who shoved you to the floor. I should apologize not you,” She is about
to say more when Jez jumps in.

Heeding Immerine’s
exclamation, Jez remains silent throughout the entire affair. As they conclude
the respective tales, the lithe half-elf stands all the while dumbfounded at
the confessions of Immerine and Nik. His mouth open and slightly agape, he
remains silent through out Tarim’s rebuttal until Alanna’s grape drops from
the rafters and bounces off his head. He blinks and shakes his head but once.
“It seems some matters are deeper of the soul than I once thought,” he says
looking at Immerine. “No wonder why you push people away from you. All the
sorrow and pain you’ve endured forces you to walk a dangerous road. If I
understand the Rashemen from my parents, you’re to exact vengeance on the man
who murdered your parents.”

Immerine looks
askance at Jez, “No, exacting vengeance on this man is something I would
personally love to accomplish but it is not a requirement. My responsibilities
are to my Sisterhood and my people. Their safety and wishes must come first. I
would like to find where my mother hid this tome, as it is obvious she had
found it and hidden it or that man would never have risked coming to Rashemen.
It is also obvious he did not find it, but he thought I was the key. I was a
toddler and my memories may be somewhat distorted though.”

There is stark
confusion on her unveiled face, “Why do you think I push people away? I do not
push people away… well except for Tarim. I have never touched any of you
outside of healing except Matteo and now Nik. I hold myself aloof from you
because you are Outlanders. We can be companions, friends – perhaps, but never
anything more. To do so would be to bring the death sentence down upon you and
banishment or death for me. I am not a normal member of the population. I am a
ruler of my people. To understand what this means you would have to be
Rashemi. The reason I do not like to be touched is twofold. When we are
involved in spellcasting even the air around us is alive and it is for your
own safety. The second is more personal and I will not explain to you just
know it has to do with my past and how I was raised.”

Immerine looks at
Tarim, his staff and the little owl, “You use the blessings of the Hidden One,
do you not? I think you call her Mystra and her blessings the Weave. Would you
teach me? I have the spark in me but no the knowledge of how to tap it or the
instruments to use it.”

Tarim listens
closely and understanding dawns slowly. He nods ever so slightly as she
speaks, processing each new bit of knowledge carefully and drawing conclusions
from them. Then she asks… Tarim blinks… once… twice, he opens his mouth to
speak and nothing comes out. Color rises to his cheeks and yet he looks back
at Immerine unabashedly. “Lady Immerine, I am but I am nearly a novice myself…
perhaps my mentor Kevin Janis would be a better choice?”

Inside his heart
aches and he desperately wants her to say “No” but Tarim knows Kevin is more
seasoned. “It is the right thing to say isn’t it?” he wonders. The slight
barbarian thinks about it, his mind racing along with his heart. Yet the more
he thinks, he comes to the conclusion that Kevin’s more analytical approach
might not suit this very spiritual, spirited, emotional and intuitive lady.
And too could this not be Mystra’s will for him perhaps?

Mere seconds later
he smiles at the mysterious lady, raising his empty hand, placing it over his
heart and bowing, saying, “Perhaps not… I would be greatly and most truly
honored to lend my humble skills to aiding you on the path.”

Immerine watches him
coolly, “I did not ask your mentor Tarim, I asked you. You have heard too much
of my life so you know what to expect. You also know my temper firsthand. And
I think you are patient enough to deal with me. You need more confidence in
yourself. So if you are willing I would like to learn from you.” The tone in
the woman’s voice indicates she has already made up her mind even if Tarim
continues to have doubts.

The young mage grins
happily, blue eyes sparkling with delight “I will teach you everything I can
Immerine, I promise…”

Looking at Nik,
Jezbodiah says, “All good things drown in sorrow and grog. It’s the first
tenet of the Llirran faithful. It teaches us moderation in times of joy and
celebration as it teaches us to leave the past and work towards the future.
Let your past go and push away the tankard. You’ll never find the comfort and
absolution ye seek in the bottom of it. You have damn fine musical talent. I’m
sure as I can do a hand stands that the Llirrans or the city’s music guild
could use a man like yourself.”

Immerine’s words and
gentle touch chase the pain and desperation from Nik’s careworn face, leaving
behind sheer bewilderment. Clearly encouragement, and sympathy are the last
thing he expected, and it takes him a moment to realize exactly what she has
asked of him.

As Immerine turns
her attention to Jez and Tarim, Nik draws his legs up to his chest, wrapping
his long arms around his shins and resting his chin on his knees. Terror is
plain in his face as he contemplates life without the numbing comfort of
alcohol, and he seems oblivious to the conversation occurring around him. The
gaunt bard sits like that for a long moment, huddled up as if he still expects
a beating and visibly struggling to get control of the fear and self-loathing
that have always ruled him.

Finally
determination overthrows years of abuse and self-pity, and he gets awkwardly
to his feet. He even abandons his usual slight stoop, squaring his narrow
shoulders and holding his head high. A small, tentative smile touches his lips
as he hears Immerine practically ordering Tarim to teach her. “Just
incredible.” he murmurs to himself, impressed by how well the witch handles
herself even after dredging up such painful memories.

Looking up at the
beams of the barn, Jez spots his ferret. “You, young lady are in so much
trouble. Get! Down! Here!” He points to his shoulder. The small ferret looks
hurt, though quickly scampers down the perch on the young half-elf’s shoulder,
giving the appearance of complete innocence.

Behind Jezbodiah, a
single hiccup catches the tall man by surprise, and Nik swallows hard several
times, the awe in his face rapidly turning to panic as he realizes he really
did drink way too much way too quickly and He should have stayed sitting down.
One hand pressed to his mouth, Nik scrambles to the nearest empty stall, where
from the sound of it he is being rather ill.

Jez waits for
Immerine and Tarim to finish speaking, and Nik to disappear into a stall.
“Very well,” he says. “To violate you is to cause misery or dead upon myself
and you. I understand this and I will abide by your wishes, but I do have one
thing to ask of you, a personal before I leave and return to the inn. When you
are ready to speak or wish privacy. Let me know.” He waits for Immerine’s
reply then he pipes up again.

“What’s important
about this tome? And why does this Cult of the Dragon want it?”

The smile that was
on Immerine’s face dies when Jez asks about the Tome. Her voice is cold and
dead when she replies to him, “Nothing Jez. Nothing at all. Why they want it I
cannot say. I should never have said anything about it. You have to keep it to
yourself if you do not want to be a Dracolich’s dinner. I’m not joking.”

“You want to talk to
me in private so follow me. Let’s get this over with.” Immerine walks out of
the stable waiting for Jez to follow then around the corner to the back of the
building.

Tarim stares at the
lovely witch still grinning happily as she relates her gloom and doom warnings
about Dracoliches, and steps out of the way so she can go speak with Jez
privately. He watches her leave while leaning on his staff standing there in
the stables, thinking and smiling to himself.

After she’s gone he
shakes his head as though to clear it and says quietly to Ened’ome, “A
teacher… me…” before chuckling softly and scratching the little owl gently on
her supple neck.

“Just a minute,” he
says. The rogue waits while passing a long glance on Nik, seeing if he’s
puking blood or a vital body organ. “The banes of gluttony and excess roll up
from the gullet and onto the open ground like a bad batch of Talona’s pudding
cakes,” he muses to himself. “A man with considerable talent, a minstrel and
merry-maker, he wastes all of it. Well, al least he purged himself of foul
poisons.”

Finishing her grape,
Alanna scampers down off the barn’s high beam and proceeds towards Jez. Once
on the floor, she proceeds towards her master, paws matted with grape juice,
small bits of hay and dirt as she moves along to his leg. Jez doesn’t seem to
mind her messy digits as he picks her up and proceeds after Immerine.

Cradled in his arms
and laying on her back, Alanna begins to lick her paws clean.

Finally the retching
and gagging coming from Nik’s stall ceases. The tall bard makes his shaky way
out of the stall, but he only comes out far enough to see Immerine leave. He
leans against the wall, face pale and running with sweat, and spits a few
times to try to rid himself of the taste. Incredibly enough, the bard doesn’t
seem to have gotten any vomit on himself, which is a pretty good indicator of
how common an occurrence this is for him. Nik drags one hand across his mouth
and gives Tarim a crooked smile.

“Hell of a way for
me to introduce myself, wasn’t it, lad?” he says wryly. “I’m Nik.”

The bard’s sardonic
expression becomes faintly embarrassed, and he looks away. “I’m not always
like this.” he says finally, apologetically, his deep voice faint. “Well,
that’s a lie, I AM always like this. I just usually hide it better.”

Tarim nods to the
taller thin man and says “Tarim Ravenmane, once of the Tree Ghost Tribe, now
clan-less. Don’t worry… I don’t blame you… had my youth been anything like
yours I’d be dead, so the fact that you try is impressive enough.”

“Drink is deadly
stuff though… you should try to master that, lest it finish the job the world
has tried to do to you.” His gaze drifts to the floor as his mind wanders…

***

Immerine waits until
Jez shows up. If he doesn’t she shrugs and sits down to be alone with her
thoughts.

Seeing Immerine
sitting down, he proceeds towards her but keeps safe distance from her.
“Didn’t mean to keep you waiting, but I need to say this is privacy away from
the others. It was in regards to the day we were outside the cave.”

Blinking at
Immerine, Alanna rolls over and climbs onto his shoulder where she rests
comfortably, continuing to clean her paws and prune herself as the two begin
to talk. She pays them no attention as she does.

“What did I do? Do I
owe you an apology for something too?” Immerine asks her voice and face
indicate resignation.

“No, I think you
misread me. But I will make it brief. It is I who should owe you an apology. I
should have popped Matteo in jaw for striking a lady of your stature and
position. But I didn’t. I thank Lliira I held myself in check. Striking Matteo
would have caused unforeseen problems in near future.”

“Matteo … well he is
no longer my concern. I have released him from his pledge under duress. I do
not need his complications in my life considering what I have just learned.”

“My second question
is a bit personal, and I’ll, uh, umm, try to, uh, put it into favorable terms.
When you disrobe before me, it hadn’t occurred to me then, but it does now.
Have you coupled with the opposite. Have you kept your maiden’s head?” The
tone of Jezbodiah’s voice is serious and caring, but evasive.

Immerine looks at
Jez not really understanding the question at first. “Do you mean have I had
sex? No, I haven’t. Though I must admit men are such strange animals. I mean
after all Matteo was wounded and when he started leaking I thought I would
have to fix it and he said it didn’t need to be fixed. What is a maiden’s
head, by the way?”

“Wounded? He wasn’t
wankering himself,” Jez replies with a perplexed look on his face. No, never
mind. Don’t say it.” He snickers and chuckles at the thought, then continues,
but his tone is more serious. “Your maiden’s head, you know the supple rose,
the flower, uh, your virginity,” he says. “Have you soiled yourself and
offended your goddess.”

Immerine looks down
at herself then back up at Jez, “Khelliara doesn’t get offended when I get
dirty. I thought I was rather clean compared to the rest of you. I mean, no
one’s blood spilled on me.” She raises her arms and sniffs under each one. “I
smell like me. Why would that offend my goddess? Jez you are not making any
sense. I thought you had something private to ask. So what do maiden’s heads,
roses and flowers have to do with sex? If you don’t know what sex is I think
very poorly of your mother, especially if she is from Rashemen. Maybe I should
have a talk with her. Young men your age should have gone on Dajemma and
enjoyed themselves by now.”

The half-elf rolls
his eyes in disbelief. “No not dirty, I forget, you don’t understand our
language and the way we use words in given and often constrained
circumstances. It’s something I will have to teach you sometime. That is
without touching you. You’ve already told me the consequence of what would
happen.”

“Uh, Maiden’s head,
flower, uh yes. That’s what we call virginity Immerine. When a couple love
each other for the first time in an intimate joining, the woman is said to
have lost her maiden’s head or her flower has been plucked after the coupling.
It’s something we ‘barbarians’ do not talk about openly, especially amongst a
large group of strangers. It’s considered impolite and discourteous. Out here,
virginity is a highly valued and protected prize that isn’t given away freely,
amongst both good and wicked citizenry, and amongst churches.

“What’s a Dajemma by
the way. Sound like something I wear before I go to bed.”

“I don’t think I
would want to learn the language if you can’t say something plainly. If you
are asking me if I have ever coupled with a man, no I haven’t.” Immerine
replies. “A dajemma is a young person’s time of exploration when they leave
their home to experience the world before returning to their home to take
their place in the world. Now Jez, stop asking me about flowers and prizes –
what do you want? Are you trying to tell me you want to have sex with me?”

“No, that would be
wrong. I’d rather have your friendship” he says. “I’m sorry, but I was raised
to protect the honor and decency of women, not exploit them for my own selfish
impulses. I wasn’t raised to be a worshipper of Lliira just to celebrate and
fornicate at the quickest whim. I was taught to think and see the enjoyment
and happiness in the world around me.” He kneels down next her and says, ‘I’d
rather serve you as an escort, or defender for the time that you are here. And
ask for your permission if I may.”

He stops to catch
his breath then continues. “I’ve felt restless in Berdusk, since the Summer’s
Solstice has ended. My father and mother calls it “wanderlust”. I’ve finished
with the initiations required by my family and my faith. I will need to leave
my home by the first thawing of spring and go about with my own Dajemma.”

Immerine looks
thoughtful for a moment and shakes her head. “You cannot serve me that way,
Jez. To become the warrior of a wychlaran requires a lifelong commitment. I
will not be here for life. Your companionship and friendship I can accept for
the time but nothing more. I still do not understand why this could not be
asked in front of the others. Why the secrecy?”

“Like I said, some
things are best discussed in privacy.” He stands and Alanna chirps. “No, I
haven’t forgotten my furry friend. With Matteo gone, who’s up to leading the
group? I can’t do it nor do I want it. I was hoping he could train me with a
larger selection of weapons, better swords and axes. Maybe learn how to fight
with better armor, like studded leather, but now with him gone, I’m stuck.
That and I have other plans down the road that is my life. Plans that may put
me into a favorable light. I can’t say much as it may put my family in harm’s
way.”

“So you want to be a
Harper? I understand this is one of the best cities to be in for that.”
Immerine stands back up. “Are we finished? I would like to get out of my armor
and talk to Tarim about learning to tap the Weave.”

He stands and looks
surprised. “You, you know of the Harpers? A story for another day perhaps?” He
scratches his head. “Yes, we’re finished. It’s getting dark. There are scrolls
and wands in that assortment of chests that came in tonight. I’m curious as to
know what they can do. That and I have to introduce myself to some strangers.”

Immerine rolls her
eyes at Jez, “I am a wychlaran dear boy. Of course I know about the Harpers.”
Immerine walks off back into the stable to chat with Tarim thinking at least
the wizard has his head in one place.

***

Immerine walks back
into the stable an irritated look on her face. She smiles when she sees Nik up
and talking to Tarim. “I’m sorry to both of you. Jez has been trying to get me
alone since earlier, though I have no idea why. All he talked about was
flowers, maiden heads and pledging himself to me. Did you know he values the
virginity of a woman? He says it is worth more than – well I can’t remember
exactly what it was he said but it was very silly.” Qwenta sticks his head
over his stall and starts nibbling on Nik’s hair.

Tarim smiles at her
return looking up from the stable floor where his gaze had drifted as he was
lost in thought…”Not very subtle is he?” the barbarian asked softly. “He would
fit in well in my village… I was often accused of being too… sensitive”

“So Lady Immerine…
when would you like to begin? On your path to understanding The Art I mean…”

“What a bright young
man you are. I was coming back to ask you the same thing. I do not know what I
need to begin. I have very little money. I was hired by Lord Ashgale to be his
advisor, but that relationship does not seem to be working. I do not know if
it is in my best interest to continue. But I really do not know what else to
do. How does one get money for supplies in a city like this?” Immerine seems
suddenly in a position she is unused to.

The slight young man
beams at the praise of the witch. “For the time being all you need is a clear,
well-rested mind and a quiet place to study, Lady Immerine.” he answers. “For
my part we could begin now…” he offers with a shrug, appearing to have no
preference.

On a closer more
insightful appraisement, a well-cloaked eagerness is present however,
noticeable by Immerine.

“I have my room here
at the Inn. We can go there if you like. There is a small table in the room
where we can sit. You will probably want to tell Kevin where you will be
though. He may want to come too, but I will be learning from you,” she says
the last reassuringly.

Tarim smiles openly
as she suggests that Kevin should be present and nods heartily. “Agreed, I
think it’s an excellent idea…I wouldn’t want to start you off on the wrong
foot as it were. Kevin can make sure I am not telling you anything the wrong
way…or too soon or so on. I also wanted to tell you that I will let you borrow
my papers too…I don’t have a proper spellbook as of yet… but my spells,
knowledge and insight are all at your disposal dear lady… On one condition…”
he adds

“Condition? What
condition?” asks the witch.

Tarim blushes and
looks into her eyes saying “You never forgave me for my mistake lady… for
touching you without permission. I know that I didn’t know at the time… but I
don’t want you to think I took it lightly. I am not a person who deals well
with offending or upsetting ladies. Forgive me? Please?”

“I am not a lady. I
am a witch, but your reverence speaks well of you. Outlanders are allowed to
make mistakes, there is nothing to forgive. Now you know better and you will
simply not repeat the same mistake. You did not upset me,” she holds up the
ring. “This upsets me. This makes me very angry and I intend to bring
retribution against these people and their twisted beliefs. Can you imagine
upsetting the lines of life and death to bring the dead to a state of undeath.
Very sad and it makes me and my goddess very angry.”

Tarim nods
agreeably, “Good enough. I was raised to abhor evil necromancy, it’s
constructs and works and I still do. They anger me as well.” He says solemnly
“I would be honored to assist you in ridding the world of their corruption. If
I may. And to that end I have a spell that I will teach you first, which is
effective against the undead even for a novice.”

Immerine opens her
mouth to say something about being called a novice, but sees Tarim did not
mean any offense, so changes her mind. “I have several spells effective
against the undead as a servant of Khelliara, but I will need to learn some as
a servant of the Hidden One as well.”

Immerine takes a
step toward Nik and takes his hair out of Qwenta’s mouth. “Nik, are you going
to be okay?”

The gaunt bard had
seemed content to lean against the wall and try to recover from his emotional
and phyical upset, silent and staring at the floor as Immerine and Tarim
talked and not even noticing Qwenta nibbling at his hair. But when Immerine
approaches him, Nik looks up from his boots and offers her a wan smile. The
look in his eyes is terrible, frightened and full of pain. “I haven’t been
okay since the day I was born.” he says faintly, the bitterness harsh in his
voice.

But then Nik sighs
and looks up at the rafters, and when he looks back down at her his eyes are
clear. “But I think things might get better from here.” he tells her. The
lopsided smile grows brittle, and he says weakly “But I have one more favor to
ask of you, milady. If I can’t drink away my nightmares, do you have anything
to help me sleep?”

Immerine smiles at
the bard, “I can mix a potion to help you sleep. It is made of natural herbs
and a little jihuild. It will give you a burn even your alcohol cannot match.
It will sharpen your senses for a time but after that the herbs will cause you
to drift to sleep. There should be no dreams for you tonight. Come upstairs to
my room and I will mix it there.” Smiling she walks back to the Running Stag.

The bard watches her
walk away, gratitude brightening his gaunt face. He sighs with relief, then
looks over at Tarim. As he turns, he suddenly realizes how very close he is to
Immerine’s big stallion, and panic twists his face. He steps back out of the
seemingly non-threatening horse’s reach quickly, shivering, arms hugged across
his narrow chest. It takes Nik a moment to compose himself, but when he does
he offers Tarim a crooked, embarrassed smile. “I… ehm… I don’t like horses
much.” he explains weakly, fear still shadowing his eyes.

The tall man gives
the horse a last wary look, then returns his attention to Tarim. “So, you’re
going to be teaching Immerine to work the Weave, are you?” The fear is
suddenly gone from his green-flecked brown eyes, instead they are alight with
curiosity and excitement. “You wouldn’t mind if I came along and watched,
would you? The study of magic is a bit of a hobby of mine. I promise to be
silent.” A bright, rather manic grin on his lips Nik adds, “I even promise to
be sober.”

Looking somewhat
uncomfortable Tarim forces a smile and says, “It should be educational for all
of us. I can’t wait to hear what Saer Kevin has to say about this lunacy of
mine.” With a resigned sigh the young mage says, “Let us join the others.”
Giving Ened’ome another little scratch behind her head murmuring to her, “Yes,
Yes I know… food.”

***

Having finished his
discussion with Immerine, Jez heads away from the barn and off into the
streets of Berdusk for the evening. Alanna, maintaining perfect balance, sits
comfortably on his shoulder with one small paw clasping a handful of his
blonde hair. The half-elf shakes his head softly at the level of Immerine’s
naivety and her innocent personality. He can not believe how culturally
backwards she is and yet at the same time determined and focus on the road in
front of her. “She’ll make a good leader,” he muses to himself.

“So Berdusk is in
danger,” he says to Alanna. “I wonder how to explain this to my parents when I
return home? And I wonder how I’m going to explain you,” he says as he looks
at Alanna. “I know my younger sisters, especially the twins will enjoy having
you in the house.”

“Squeak?” Alanna
peeps at her master as if she could say, “really?”

“Such is for
tomorrow and a certain halfling.” Stretching and circling his injured
shoulder, Jez continues to walk with the streets of the city he is happy to
call his home. Tomorrow will bring more adventures for him.

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of J P Hazelhoff,
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